


In A Flash

by Evaine



Category: Metallica
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-05
Updated: 2011-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 05:46:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evaine/pseuds/Evaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Kirk's birthday party and he wants his birthday present. Why are the fates conspiring against him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In A Flash

There’s just something about that lean, tight body encased in shockingly bright red spandex from head to toe that makes his dick hard.

“You are so fucking hot.” Kirk’s mouth is so close to Lars’ ear that his lips brush against the fabric covering it. He slides his hand over Lars’ ass, appreciating the feel of the muscles rippling in response to his touch. It’s just Lars and the bodysuit, nothing in between.

“Well, you could have picked something a little less stifling.” Lars pulls at the bright sheath of material over his chest, his tone almost petulant. “I’m fucking dying in this thing!”

“Yeah, but nobody could carry off ‘The Flash’ the way you are.” Kirk continues to caress Lars’ ass—he knew it would look awesome in this costume… and feel even better.

“I’ll remember that when I fucking pass out from the heat.” Lars is bitching, but he’s also leaning into Kirk’s hand, which is all good. Kirk loves it when Lars gets all pissy trying to cover up the fact that he’s hornier than shit. A quick glance over Lars’ shoulder gives ample visual proof of exactly how horny he is. Spandex hides nothing—not that Lars cares about showing his hard-on to the rest of the world. The man has no shame.

Kirk chuckles softly.

“Wanna go somewhere a little quieter and cool off for a bit?” He looks over his little sunglasses and into Lars’ eyes. Eyes which are even more green when surrounded by the red of the masked hood. He slides his hand up Lars’ back to rest it on his shoulder and squeezes in a silent invitation.

“Wish I could.” Lars’ smile is wistfully sexy beneath the cowl. “But I have guests to see to.” He slips two fingers into Kirk’s shirt, just above his waistband and rubs his knuckles against the skin of Kirk’s belly. “Maybe later…,” he grins, “…if I don’t fucking expire from the heat first.”

And then he’s gone, zipping into the crowd of people, a flash of scarlet amidst all the other swirling colours. Kirk bites back a sound of annoyance. It’s his birthday, dammit, and he wants some action! Some Danish action.

Settling his top hat a little more firmly atop his head, Kirk scans the crowd of people. How the hell does Slash do it, he wonders and finds himself chuckling at the sudden image of the Guns ‘n’ Roses guitarist holding his own top hat in place with a huge red ribbon tied beneath his chin.

@@@@@

Kirk leans his elbow on the bar and looks out over the packed living room. It’s a damned good thing Lars has such a big house, because there are tons of people here. Some are dancing, some are talking, some are just watching, and some are moving off into the shadows or heading upstairs, their intent obvious. Kirk knows that Lars opens his whole house when he throws a party, all except for the studio in the basement, the home office and his own master suite. If all goes well, he’ll be in that master suite before the night is out.

“Hey there, Birthday Boy. Enjoying yourself?” Red-clad arms slip around Kirk’s shoulders and there’s a warm body pressing against his back.

“Enjoy it more if you could stay still for ten goddamned minutes.” He turns his head just as Lars leans his chin on his shoulder. Lars’ tongue flicks out and teases at his labret and suddenly Kirk’s pants are very tight.

“I can give you five.” Lars moves around to face him and Kirk wonders just how he can manage to touch so many different parts of his body in one smooth movement. Suddenly he feels very hot beneath his frock coat and vest.

“It’s my birthday, I should get what I want.” Kirk whips his cane around the small of Lars’ back and pins him against his body. “I want you.” His voice barely escapes being petulant.

“And you got me, man.” Lars grins at him, thrusting his hips forward to show Kirk just how much of him he’s got. “For five minutes.”

Kirk pulls the cane tighter, his own hips jutting into Lars and both pairs of eyes widen as cock rubs against cock through too many layers of fabric. They stare at each other for a long moment until laughter overcomes them.

“Have you seen The Dark Knight skulking around?” Lars turns within the confines of the cane and leans back against Kirk and Kirk smiles. That Lars is in an affectionate mood bodes well.

“He’s been stalking Superman all night.” Kirk chuckles. “It must get tiring being so damned intense all the time. I don’t know how the fuck the two of them do it.” He lets the cane drop to his side and slips his other hand around Lars’ waist.

“That’s their foreplay, Kirk.” Lars swivels his head and tilts it a little to grin at him. “Makes James feel powerful and Jason less guilty.”

“Hmmph… damned stupid, if you ask me.” Kirk runs his hand over the flat, spandex-covered belly beneath his hand and is rewarded with a slight quiver of the muscles beneath his palm. “They should just fuck and enjoy it.” He puts his lips on the fabric covering Lars’ ear. “Like we do. Like we should be doing right now.” His dick is straining against his zipper thanks to the pressure of Lars’ ass against it.

“Down, Birthday Boy, I have shit to do.”

And he’s gone again, weaving through the crowd to greet the latest arrivals at the ‘Superhero Bash of the Fucking Century’, as he’s dubbed Kirk’s birthday party. Kirk grimaces in dismay. He’s so horny he could hump the bar stool—or maybe Baz. He looks down the bar at the skinniest warrior he’s ever seen; Thor had always been a hero of his.

A scarlet blur catches the corner of his eye. No, he wants Lars tonight. It’s his birthday and he wants a Danish birthday gift.

@@@@@

It’s late, but the house is still full. Lars gives good party.

Kirk props himself up against the wall outside one of the downstairs powder rooms, his expression somewhat bemused. A conversation with Duff—Brainiac., complete with green make-up—always leaves him feeling a little unbalanced. The man plays a killer bass, but his logic sometimes leaves something to be desired.

He watches with amusement as James drags a seemingly reluctant Jason into the kitchen. Who the hell do they think they’re kidding anyway?

Dammit, where’s Lars? He wants Lars. A pout begins to form on his full lips—lips that want nothing more than to be around a certain drummer’s cock. The tip of his tongue trails over his bottom lip. He can taste him, for fuck’s sake!

“It’s all yours.” Jerry ’Wonder Woman’ Cantrell exits the powder room, tugging his fake tits back into place, followed by a very satisfied Wolverine. Kirk nods at Glenn Danzig and grins at the somewhat bow-legged stride of the singer. The Monster Dick of Rock conquers another one.

“C’mon!” Lars darts in front of him grabbing Kirk’s arm and hauls him into the small bathroom. He bumps the door shut with his ass and reaches back to lock it with his free hand.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Kirk pushes back the top hat, knocked slightly askew by Lars’ sudden maneuver.

“Dude.” Lars strikes a proud pose in his skin-tight red bodysuit. “I’m The Flash.” His erection is once again most visibly evident and Kirk’s own cock twitches back to full attention in response.

“That has got to be one of the best ideas I’ve ever had.” Kirk’s tone is a fusion of smug and want.

“Well, your ass isn’t the one that’s been grabbed all night long, is it?” Lars snakes a hand out to curl over Kirk’s belt and pulls. “I’ll bet I have fuckin’ black and blue marks all over it.” He makes quick work of opening the belt buckle, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper of Kirk’s pants.

“I’ll be glad to che—ohhhh…,” Kirk’s voice trails into a soft, purring moan as Lars drops to his knees in front of him, wrapping his fingers firmly around Kirk’s now-free cock.

The cane clatters to the floor.

Kirk leans back against the sink, bracing himself with his hands on the edge of the porcelain. His hips jut forward seeking the source of the warm, moist breath on his aching dick. He looks down, through the tinted glass of his little sunglasses, and sucks in his bottom lip at the sight of Lars’ cupid-bow of a mouth opening to a soft, pink O. A small shiver of pleasure runs through him as the O fills itself with the head of his cock.

“Fuck, Lars, that’s good,” he murmurs. Fingers flexing against the lip of the sink, he sighs softly as Lars’ tongue licks slowly around the flared edge of his now-happy dick. Lars knows just how he likes it—slow at first, his lips, tongue and teeth teasing and coaxing until Kirk can stand it no longer and begins to rock his hips back and forth.

His hand curls around the back of Lars’ head, fingers gliding over the smooth fabric of the costume’s hood encouraging him to suck harder, take him deeper. Was that a chuckle? Oh, who the fuck cares… this feels fucking fantastic! Kirk’s mouth opens, his lips full and soft, and he gives a little nod, the expression familiar to anyone who’s ever seen him onstage. Lars’ fingers dig into his hips roughly and a shuddering moan bounces off the tiled walls of the powder room.

“Jesus, Lars!” Kirk’s voice is loud in his ears as his dick rams down Lars’ throat with a powerful jerk. The tingling, the heat, the wave of delicious helplessness renders everything else unimportant. Lars’ throat is constricting around his cock and Kirk feels as if his very balls are being sucked dry.

“There.” Lars gently tucks Kirk’s spent cock back into his pants and does them up, while Kirk can only sag against the sink, hoping he’ll feel his legs sometime soon. “That ought to hold you for a little bit.” He straightens and brushes his lips across Kirk’s and Kirk can taste himself in the caress. Damn, Lars gives good head.

@@@@@

Kirk watches Lars dart through the crowded living room and grins when the figure in red runs smack into a long, lanky string bean in blue. Something about Tommy Lee dressed in blue spandex as The Atom tickles his funny bone. Kirk’s grin widens as Lars tilts his head back—way back to look up into the other drummer’s face. The Mutt and Jeff of the drumming world, the long and the short of it—Kirk chuckles, conveniently forgetting that he only has an inch on Lars, after all.

“Little buddy! Brother Lars!” Tommy bends and wraps his spider arms around Lars and hugs him tightly. Even from where he’s sitting, Kirk can see Lars’ eyes begin their familiar roll. Then Tommy’s hand drifts down to run over Lars’ ass and Kirk’s eyes narrow. _That’s MY birthday present, you overgrown popsicle stick!_ His fingers tighten around the head of his ornate cane.

“Tommy, get off me! I got fuckin’ guests to see to!” Lars manages to squirm free of the never-ending arms with their hands that are roaming all over him. Kirk watches as he grabs Tommy’s head in both hands and brings his face down to give him a very, very friendly kiss that includes copious amounts of tongue.

Kirk feels his cock spring to life, the blow-job in the powder room a distant memory now. He sees Lars glance at his watch while his tongue is still spelunking in Tommy’s mouth and laughs aloud. He must remember to ask Lars if he’s ever done Tommy or if this is just the secret handshake of the drummer’s union.

“Lars, you wound me!” Tommy protests as Lars finally releases him and squirms free of his grasp. Kirk wonders if dramatics is a prerequisite for being a drummer.

“Gotta check on the fucking guest of honour.” Lars gives Tommy a cheeky grin and pats his cheek. “Go find Wonder Woman, I hear he’s easy tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Cool!” Tommy’s face brightens. “Who’s Wonder Woman?” He wanders off into the crowd and Lars darts over to perch on the arm of the wingback chair Kirk is settled in.

“I would like to point out that the guest of honour is not fucking, even though he would very much like to be fucking.” Kirk slides a hand onto Lars’ knee and begins to inch it upwards. Was there anything as much of a turn on as warm skin beneath tight spandex? He wonders fleetingly if he could convince Lars to start wearing pantyhose beneath his jeans.

“Right here?” Lars’ eyes are wide and teasing as he bends towards Kirk, that damned cocksure grin curving his mouth. A hand snakes out and covers Kirk’s crotch.

“Fuck, Lars!” Kirk’s hips rise up slightly from the chair seat, pressing his cock up into Lars’ palm.

“Nice, Kirk, very nice….” Lars’ voice is a purr next to Kirk’s ear. His tongue darts out to lick the curve. A shiver snakes around Kirk’s spine, spiraling down until he can feel it deep in his balls and his asshole puckers in response.

“Teasing bastard.” Kirk murmurs, turning his head to brush his lips along Lars’ stubbly jaw line. His teeth nip at Lars’ chin, eliciting a low, silky chuckle. The hand on his dick is moving now… slowly… firmly. _Oh damn, it feels so good..._

Kirk’s head falls back against the chair back, his eyes closed to mere slits, his breath almost hissing between his lips. Lars buries his face in Kirk’s curls and Kirk can feel him breathing deeply of his scent.

“Could make you come right here.” Lars’ head bends and his teeth sink into the side of Kirk’s neck with just enough pressure to make him groan in response. Skilled fingers slide down the zipper of Kirk’s pants and creep inside, seeking warm, hard flesh. The labret clinks against Kirk’s teeth as he draws in his bottom lip when those fingertips curl over the suddenly slick head of his cock. A thumb slowly draws over his slit and Kirk melts into the chair with a soft moaning sigh of pleasure.

There are people milling about not two feet away from the chair, but Kirk doesn’t care. Lars is working his cock so expertly, so exquisitely that all he can think of is getting more. His legs fall open further as his hips arch up, the urge to thrust too great to be denied.

“Lars… wanna fuck… c’mon, please?” Kirk moans, his head rolling against the back of the chair. “Can’t we go upstairs? Ple-e-e-ease?”

“You want it that bad?” Lars’ head is bent nibbling at the skin over Kirk’s Adam’s apple, causing tiny little licks of fire to ignite on almost every nerve ending Kirk possesses.

“Fuck yes!” Kirk’s normally soft, sibilant voice is a near growl of want as his hand travels along the spandex-clad thigh towards Lars’ crotch. Lars chuckles again.

There’s a shout from across the room and the sound of breaking glass.

“Dammit!” Kirk’s hand is suddenly gripping nothing but chair arm as Lars shoots up off the chair and sprints towards the noise. “I’ll kill the motherfucker.” He looks down at his gaping fly and the slick purpling head of his dick shines in the soft light, taunting him. With a snarled curse, Kirk tucks himself back into his pants and zips up wondering who, exactly, he’s going to have to abuse for this interruption.

“Down, little man.” James’ gauntleted hand is firm on his shoulder. “You don’t want to take on Wylde, he’ll break you in two.”

“Why don’t you go find Superman and see if he really has buns of steel?” Kirk snaps, knowing James is right.

“Not his ‘buns’ I’m stalking tonight.” James’ leer is white beneath the darkness of his cowl before he saunters off, cape swirling.

Kirk makes a face at Batman’s retreating back. _It’s MY birthday, I should be the one getting what he wants!_ He adjusts himself in his pants and hoists himself to his feet, straightening his top hat. His lips thin in determination. _Where is that goddamned Lars and his tight little ass?_

@@@@@

“Finally!” Kirk enters the large foyer and strides a little crookedly towards the front door, where Lars is saying good-bye to a motley crew of drunken and askew super heroes.

“What?” Lars closes the door and leans against it, pushing the scarlet cowl  
off his head and pulling down the invisible zipper of his body suit. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair so that it resembles more of a spikey rat’s nest than a helmet. His lightly furred chest is slick with sweat and Kirk can’t stop himself from reaching out to draw a finger down the middle of it.

“The damned birds are gonna start singing soon and I’ve barely had you to myself all fucking night long.” Kirk knows he sounds petulant instead of the sexy he’s striving for, but he’s been waiting for so long for Lars to make good on his teasing.

“Well, you know what?” Lars grins tiredly, slipping an arm around Kirk’s waist and turning him towards the wide staircase that leads to the second floor. “You’ve got me now. I’m done. No more fucking Mr. Congeniality. Those that are left can fend for themselves.”

“Yeah?” Kirk feels a hopeful stirring in his pants. He drapes an arm around Lars’ shoulders and leans his head closer. “We can go upstairs now?”

“We sure as fuck can.” Lars turns his face towards him and gives him a soft kiss on the cheek. “All yours, Birthday Boy,” he murmurs, nuzzling against Kirk’s ear.

Those delicious shivers are back and Kirk can’t help but smile eagerly. The copious amounts of alcohol that he’s consumed all evening long render his footsteps a little unsteady as he climbs the stairs at Lars’ side, but Lars’ arm around his waist is helping to keep him upright.

“Oh hey, look!” Kirk points at an open door as they head down the hallway towards the master suite. “There’s just something not right about young, sexy Jubilee and the asexual and old Martian Manhunter getting down and dirty. Insults my sense of what’s right and wrong.” He leans a little heavier on Lars’ shoulder.

“Kirk, your sense of right and wrong is fucking warped to begin with.” Lars chuckles and his fingers creep beneath the edge of Kirk’s shirt to stroke bare flesh. “And I’m very glad of that.” He unlocks the door of the master suite with his other hand and ushers Kirk inside.

“Alone at last!” Kirk takes the top hat from his head and sends it spinning across the room.

“Aiyee, my fuckin’ feet hurt.” Lars collapses across the queen-sized bed and waggles his legs in the air. “Swear these fuckin’ boots are a size too small.” He makes a grab for one foot and fails, a tired snort of laughter escaping him.

“Give me a minute and I’ll take ‘em off for you.” Kirk begins to shuck out of his dapper jacket, tugging at the ornate scarf tie at his neck at the same time. Shit, there were a lot of pieces to this outfit.

“Okay.” Lars inches back across the bed and curls on his side, watching Kirk. “I like that look on you, Kirk,” he says, stifling a yawn with his forearm. “You were made for period clothes.”

“Yeah, well, right now they’re fuckin’ being a pain in the ass.” Kirk clucks in annoyance as the tie tangles even further. He wonders if the alcohol could be contributing to the disobedience of his fumbling fingers.

“Don’t strangle yourself,” Lars mumbles.

“I won’t.” Kirk moves towards the dresser mirror and blinks owlishly at his reflection, debating the mess of fabric hanging about his neck. “Wanna fuck, don’t wanna die.” His fingers pluck at the material as he sways forward.

“Mmm… fuckin’ would be nice…” Lars’ voice is faint behind him.

“It’s my turn to fuck you, Lars. My birthday.” It’s an old game between him and Lars—birthday boy gets to top. He grips the edge of the dresser as the room takes a little dip around him.

It occurs to Kirk that if he removed the small spectacles, he might be able to pull the tie over his head. He can just catch a glimpse of Lars’ red-clad legs reflected in the corner of the mirror. The spandex clings to every line and curve of those slim but muscular calves and thighs. Kirk licks his suddenly dry lips at the thought of running his hands along their length and the soft purring sounds he knows Lars will make in response. His dick twitches as he finally manages to pull the tie over his head and toss it on the dresser.

“Gonna peel that suit off you, Lars,” he says, still looking at his reflection as he works at undoing his belt. “Then I’m gonna lick all over… nibble… bite… suck….” The belt hisses through belt loops and his fingers attack the button of his pants. “Wanted to do that all night… gonna enjoy my birthday present….” His pants slide down over his hips, his hands pushing the black briefs down with them. His dick stands out proudly and he gives it a friendly little tug in greeting. He can almost feel Lars’ sweaty body writhing beneath him, Lars’ husky bedroom voice urging him on as he plunges into him.

Kirk pivots away from the mirror, barely keeping his balance.

“La-a-ars!”

He’d taken too long with the damned scarf. It wasn’t fair. Just wasn’t fucking fair. Damn Lars anyway! How the fuck could he fall asleep so fucking fast?

His bottom lip full and pouting, Kirk climbs onto the bed, stretching out behind the evenly-breathing figure in red spandex and debates waking Lars. He reaches over Lars’ side and places a palm on Lars’ chest, running it slowly down to his belly. Lars purrs contentedly in his sleep and moves back against Kirk, his ass wriggling into place in the slight curve of Kirk’s crotch. Kirk’s still-erect cock snugs against Lars’ ass crack, the spandex warm and smooth against his skin. Lars’ hand moves to cover Kirk’s hand on his belly and with another soft purr, he falls into an even deeper sleep.

“Lars, you’re fuckin’ killing me.” Kirk’s chuckle is affectionate as his body relaxes, responding to the warmth pressed against him and the alcohol coursing through his system.

Still, this is nice. Kirk hugs Lars to him and closes his eyes, sleep overtaking him.

There’s always the Morning After the Birthday sex.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a scene from [Capes and Cowls](http://www.rockfic.com/viewstory.php?title=Capes+and+Cowls&storyid=5051&numchapters=1&category=Metallica&author=Allana&m=f&sort=date&ratinglist=&genrelist=&bandlist=) by Allana, this is my first foray into 'Kirk fic'. Multitudes of hugs and thank you's go out to Ang, my intrepid editor extra-ordinaire and Joolz, my cheering section and much-appreciated sounding board. I couldn't do it without either of you!


End file.
